


Darling, I Want To Destroy You

by ded_i_am_just_ded



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, End Game Spoilers, I'm sorry Prompto, M/M, Memories, Unreliable Narrator, and making myself sad, don't trust your author, kind of sort of - Freeform, this is all just angst, why do i keep hurting you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:29:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded
Summary: He's not afraid of his own death anymore. Years and years of surviving the dark, of standing firm with hunters willing to die for the greater good, have solidified that resolve. He was made of dark things, he'd return to them one day.





	1. Darling

**Author's Note:**

> *********READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END*********
> 
> I needed to write angst. That's all I can say for myself. And yes, the title is stolen from the [AFI song](https://youtu.be/J7OF7dF2QIg).
> 
> Also, I know I stray from the game in a specific scene (really the only one intertwined with the game). It's been so long since I last played the last two chapters, I can't remember certain specific details. (See notes at end of chapter two)

** _ Darling, I Want To Destroy You _ **

He wakes up on his own and thinks he's forgotten something. 

Something important, that brushes gentle fingertips at the edge of his mind. His alarm goes off moments later, and pushes the thought away. The sun is just rising, a single golden ray sneaking through the curtains until he pulls them open and the room explodes into light.

There's something nostalgic there, looking at the sunrise. Again, the thought that he's forgotten something, a distant memory maybe. He scratches the back of his neck and squints, tries to pull the thought forward, but it won't pull itself together. After a yawn and a stretch that pops his back in too many places (when did he get so old?) he kicks himself into his daily routine.

He runs through the recently built park, there’s a statue in the center that he likes to look at. It’s a complete waste of money and resources, but it means something to a lot of people. It’s a bronzed statue of two men, back to back, one older, with a curl of a crown on his head and a cane centered in front of him, looks skywards. The other is younger, head tilted down as if looking at the pathway that comes up to him. He wears a draping of heavy looking fabric and ornate decorations, a sword under his hands, blade down into the ground.

Prompto likes to take a break at the statue, do some mid-run stretches. He reads the plack at the base of the statue, though it means little to him.

_In memory of Their Royal Majesties,_

_King Regis Lucius Caelum CXIII _

_and _

_King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV_

_May their sacrifices be remembered here_

Prompto thinks, it’s kind of silly. What kind of sacrifice did they make? He should know, but his memory is shoddy, lately. He looks up into the eyes of the younger figure and thinks he really should know.

His alarm beeps at him, reminds him to stay on track. He shrugs, stretches his arms over his head again, and turns to finish his running circuit. 

A familiar face greets him at the gates, and he wonders briefly what else he’s forgotten. They smile sadly and he slows to approach them. A name lingers, wants to rise to his tongue, but won’t come.

“I’m here,” They say, and he thinks they look a little sad, “Like you asked.”

He doesn’t remember that either.

“Coffee?” He suggests, hopes it’s the right offer.

He realizes there’s a long blade in their hand. The glint of the sun on it _does_ spark a memory. A request long forgotten.

Tension escapes his shoulders, he offers an old smile, “I’ve been waiting.”

There’s a flash, a piercing pain in his stomach, and he sees the shadows in their eyes. They don’t say anything else. 

As he looks up at the sunrise, he realizes it wouldn’t matter anyway.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

He’s settled in Old Lestallum; picked an abandoned apartment in a run-down building. There’s no plumbing, no electricity, but he’s used to it by now. It’s not so hard to adjust. The diner across the street has power and sets up charging stations during business hours. He goes there early, eats and lets his dying phone gain a few percent. Every once in a while, he sends messages to Gladio, updates him on little things, gets stories in return. Sometimes, there’s photos.

_Iggy _flashes across the screen, one morning. He frowns and picks up, shaking fingers bring the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

“Prompto?” A familiar voice, warmth that blossoms in his chest. It feels like ages since he’s heard a voice like this.

_Iggy._ He tells himself, repeats it over and over in his mind until it falls into place. It takes too long, but he responds, “Iggy!”

Like he’s happy to hear from him. Because he is.

But he can’t remember why.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

Cor levels a bland look at him across the booth, takes a sip at coffee that’s improved slightly in the past few months. The look makes him and his insecurities feel strange. He shifts and spins his own mug around between his hands. He lets the silence after his words just hang.

“You know, kid,” Prompto’s into his thirties now, he shouldn’t like the nickname, but it’s familiar and soothing, “I know you’ve been through a lot. I know where you came from. But this…” He trails off. Prompto looks out the window, can’t look him in the eyes again, “But this,” He continues, “Is a bit of a stretch. You’ve never shown any signs of anything, frankly, bad. If nothing, you’ve only ever been improving.” He shifts, his sword leaning beside him clanks as it hits the window.

“I know.” He runs a thumb over his barcode, “But I’m scared. We don’t have the files. We don’t know what happened when I was young. They could have done anything to me,” He sits forward, hunches over the table, “There could be something sleeping in me that we just...don’t know.”

Cor lets silence settle again, pushes Prompto’s anxiety a little farther to the edge. Finally, he nods, sets down his empty coffee mug, “I’ll look into it, ask around. Maybe Cid will know something. Don’t put too much faith in me.”

Prompto nods, “Thanks.”

Cor stands up, picks up his katana and sets down a few worn gil on the table. He pats Prompto’s shoulder as he passes him, pauses to say, “You can’t stay in the shadows forever. Eventually, you’ll see a sunrise that means something to you. Just hold on.”

Prompto nods, like he understands, grips his own mug in his hand and stares at the scuffed tabletop.

He doesn’t know who Cid is.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

They say faces blur over time. Memories fade just a little bit. This feels different. He runs into Gladio and Ignis and he can’t remember the name of the dark-haired girl with them. She knows his name, smiles at him and it takes hours for a spark of memories that flash to the surface.

It scares him that he forgot Iris’ name. Maybe the rumors are true.

Later, he swipes through photos on his old camera, the low battery flashes at him and he should really find a place to charge it. He puts names to all the faces, just to let himself know they are all still there. To stop the edge of anxiety rising in his chest.

He doesn’t sleep and stares at Noct’s face until the battery dies, tries to burn it into his brain like a brand. Someone he should--could--never forget.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

It’s about making the best out of nothing. About facing the end of the world and accepting that in the end, the only thing that is going to save you is yourself. 

They build shrines. Usually lit by a single candle (wax is rare and expensive), usually covered in flowers, usually on a corner near the entrance to the town or permanent camps. Prompto hates them, tries not to look at them when he passes through. Faded pictures and cutouts from magazines. Shrines to the missing, the dead. Shrines so people don’t forget.

Prompto adapts to not looking people in the eye. To not making attachments. Things that are too hard to hold on to. Things that hurt when everyone eventually leaves or dies. Ignis and Gladio, well, they’re enough. Cindy, Iris, Talcott, he loves them but he can’t look at them. One day, they’ll leave too. Or he will.

Hunting is dangerous as a group, even worse alone. Sometimes, you go out and you don’t think you’re going to come back. Prompto thinks maybe it’s better if no one notices if he doesn’t return. He leaves a photo exactly once, at a shrine at the edge of Hammerhead’s lights. It’s faded and crumpled, the edges warn from his fingers running over it on dark, lonely nights. 

Noctis smiles at him and he himself is laughing.

It burns just enough to let him know the nightmare is still very real.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

There's a rumor making its way across the desert. MTs stumbling into camps, monsters trailing behind. But they crumple and fade, darkness that disintegrates in the light. 

The Empire’s shadow falling in a slow spiral of destruction.

Prompto doesn't wait for everything to catch up. He actively seeks it. Obsesses over it. He knows what he is, where he came from.

It's only a matter of time, he figures.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

The breakdown starts. 

People migrate in masses, unafraid of the darkness. They tear down walls, use whatever material they can gather to start again. Prompto watches it from the sidelines. 

_You've done enough. _Iris had said, _Let someone else be the hero this time. _

Words that taste bitter in his thoughts.

_Give yourself time, _Ignis had murmured, sitting at a table propped up among tents, drinking what passes for coffee these days, _All wounds heal._ Then he'd touched his scarred eyelids gently.

This is a wound Prompto doesn't want to heal. It's a scab he'll open up forever.

Gladio is more on Prompto's side of things. _What's a Shield with nothing to protect? What are we sitting here waiting for anymore?_ They'd both taken up smoking, a bad, expensive habit. But they'd bonded, somehow, when they'd started sharing a stick whenever they'd meet.

What, indeed. Prompto watches as things begin to build, to cover old things in a new world. He lasts a year, before he's gone again.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

There's a few miles left in the tank, if they push their luck, they might make it. Prompto keeps looking the line and willing it to last just a little longer. Ignis is beside him in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap, silent. Prompto could think him asleep, if it isn't for where they're going. The two low voices that filter in from the bed of the truck keep that point firmly in mind. 

He flexes his fingers, realizes he's been holding the wheel too tight, knuckles white and fingers numb. But the darkness that's lasted ten years too long stretches out beyond the headlights and the distant creaking sounds of the daemons still edge at his paranoia.

The truck starts making noises, and Prompto knows their luck is running out. _So, the truck is the first to die tonight,_ he thinks morbidly. It sputters to a stop, shudders once, then the engine dies, the wheel stops shaking in his hands.

"Prompto?" Ignis asks softly, hands already reaching for the door. 

"Out of gas, guess we're going the rest of the way on foot." He tries to keep his voice light, let's himself tumble from the cab. He's not afraid of his own death anymore. Years and years of surviving the dark, of standing firm with hunters willing to die for the greater good, have solidified that resolve. He was made of dark things, he'd return to them one day. 

No, he wasn't afraid of dying. But the black-haired man that jumped casually from the bed of the truck to the dirt beside him made him afraid of other things. Of the sacrifice of others. Of silence around the campfire and the cold of loneliness curled in his chest. 

He's prepared to die for this man, who levels a look at him that's almost bored as they start walking. He's prepared to lay down his life, breathe his last breath, for the man beside him and all the memories he invokes. 

It's been ten years since they'd stood at the gates of Insomnia together. Even longer since they had walked her streets, played games in the arcade, wandered the halls of high school. It's all gone, shadows of the past that hurt him in his bones. They fight their way through it all; memories and daemons, until they're standing at the stairway to the Citadel. Prompto knows what it means when he meets Noct’s eyes one more time. 

Prompto isn't afraid of dying.

This. This is what Prompto is afraid of. _Terrified_ of. 

He doesn't want to let go. He’s not ready, he doesn’t think he ever will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *********Now read it backwards (Or make it easier and read Ch 2)*********


	2. I Want To Destroy You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hurts worse the second time around

** _ _**

** _ Darling, I Want To Destroy You _ **

****  
__

There's a few miles left in the tank, if they push their luck, they might make it. Prompto keeps looking the line and willing it to last just a little longer. Ignis is beside him in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap, silent. Prompto could think him asleep, if it isn't for where they're going. The two low voices that filter in from the bed of the truck keep that point firmly in mind. 

He flexes his fingers, realizes he's been holding the wheel too tight, knuckles white and fingers numb. But the darkness that's lasted ten years too long stretches out beyond the headlights and the distant creaking sounds of the daemons still edge at his paranoia.

The truck starts making noises, and Prompto knows their luck is running out. _So, the truck is the first to die tonight,_ he thinks morbidly. It sputters to a stop, shudders once, then the engine dies, the wheel stops shaking in his hands.

"Prompto?" Ignis asks softly, hands already reaching for the door. 

"Out of gas, guess we're going the rest of the way on foot." He tries to keep his voice light, let's himself tumble from the cab. He's not afraid of his own death anymore. Years and years of surviving the dark, of standing firm with hunters willing to die for the greater good, have solidified that resolve. He was made of dark things, he'd return to them one day. 

No, he wasn't afraid of dying. But the black-haired man that jumped casually from the bed of the truck to the dirt beside him made him afraid of other things. Of the sacrifice of others. Of silence around the campfire and the cold of loneliness curled in his chest. 

He's prepared to die for this man, who levels a look at him that's almost bored as they start walking. He's prepared to lay down his life, breathe his last breath, for the man beside him and all the memories he invokes. 

It's been ten years since they'd stood at the gates of Insomnia together. Even longer since they had walked her streets, played games in the arcade, wandered the halls of high school. It's all gone, shadows of the past that hurt him in his bones. They fight their way through it all; memories and daemons, until they're standing at the stairway to the Citadel. Prompto knows what it means when he meets Noct's eyes one more time. 

Prompto isn't afraid of dying.

This. This is what Prompto is afraid of. _Terrified_ of. 

He doesn't want to let go. He’s not ready, he doesn’t think he ever will be.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

The breakdown starts. 

People migrate in masses, unafraid of the darkness. They tear down walls, use whatever material they can gather to start again. Prompto watches it from the sidelines. 

_You've done enough. _Iris had said, _Let someone else be the hero this time. _

Words that taste bitter in his thoughts.

_Give yourself time, _Ignis had murmured, sitting at a table propped up among tents, drinking what passes for coffee these days, _All wounds heal._ Then he'd touched his scarred eyelids gently.

This is a wound Prompto doesn't want to heal. It's a scab he'll open up forever.

Gladio is more on Prompto's side of things. _What's a Shield with nothing to protect? What are we sitting here waiting for anymore?_ They'd both taken up smoking, a bad, expensive habit. But they'd bonded, somehow, when they'd started sharing a stick whenever they'd meet.

What, indeed. Prompto watches as things begin to build, to cover old things in a new world. He lasts a year, before he's gone again.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

There's a rumor making its way across the desert. MTs stumbling into camps, monsters trailing behind. But they crumple and fade, darkness that disintegrates in the light. 

The Empire’s shadow falling in a slow spiral of destruction.

Prompto doesn't wait for everything to catch up. He actively seeks it. Obsesses over it. He knows what he is, where he came from.

It's only a matter of time, he figures.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

It’s about making the best out of nothing. About facing the end of the world and accepting that in the end, the only thing that is going to save you is yourself. 

They build shrines. Usually lit by a single candle (wax is rare and expensive), usually covered in flowers, usually on a corner near the entrance to the town or permanent camps. Prompto hates them, tries not to look at them when he passes through. Faded pictures and cutouts from magazines. Shrines to the missing, the dead. Shrines so people don’t forget.

Prompto adapts to not looking people in the eye. To not making attachments. Things that are too hard to hold on to. Things that hurt when everyone eventually leaves or dies. Ignis and Gladio, well, they’re enough. Cindy, Iris, Talcott, he loves them but he can’t look at them. One day, they’ll leave too. Or he will.

Hunting is dangerous as a group, even worse alone. Sometimes, you go out and you don’t think you’re going to come back. Prompto thinks maybe it’s better if no one notices if he doesn’t return. He leaves a photo exactly once, at a shrine at the edge of Hammerhead’s lights. It’s faded and crumpled, the edges warn from his fingers running over it on dark, lonely nights. 

Noctis smiles at him and he himself is laughing.

It burns just enough to let him know the nightmare is still very real.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

They say faces blur over time. Memories fade just a little bit. This feels different. He runs into Gladio and Ignis and he can’t remember the name of the dark-haired girl with them. She knows his name, smiles at him and it takes hours for a spark of memories that flash to the surface.

It scares him that he forgot Iris’ name. Maybe the rumors are true.

Later, he swipes through photos on his old camera, the low battery flashes at him and he should really find a place to charge it. He puts names to all the faces, just to let himself know they are all still there. To stop the edge of anxiety rising in his chest.

He doesn’t sleep and stares at Noct’s face until the battery dies, tries to burn it into his brain like a brand. Someone he should--could--never forget.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

Cor levels a bland look at him across the booth, takes a sip at coffee that’s improved slightly in the past few months. The look makes him and his insecurities feel strange. He shifts and spins his own mug around between his hands. He lets the silence after his words just hang.

“You know, kid,” Prompto’s into his thirties now, he shouldn’t like the nickname, but it’s familiar and soothing, “I know you’ve been through a lot. I know where you came from. But this…” He trails off. Prompto looks out the window, can’t look him in the eyes again, “But this,” He continues, “Is a bit of a stretch. You’ve never shown any signs of anything, frankly, bad. If nothing, you’ve only ever been improving.” He shifts, his sword leaning beside him clanks as it hits the window.

“I know.” He runs a thumb over his barcode, “But I’m scared. We don’t have the files. We don’t know what happened when I was young. They could have done anything to me,” He sits forward, hunches over the table, “There could be something sleeping in me that we just...don’t know.”

Cor lets silence settle again, pushes Prompto’s anxiety a little farther to the edge. Finally, he nods, sets down his empty coffee mug, “I’ll look into it, ask around. Maybe Cid will know something. Don’t put too much faith in me.”

Prompto nods, “Thanks.”

Cor stands up, picks up his katana and sets down a few worn gil on the table. He pats Prompto’s shoulder as he passes him, pauses to say, “You can’t stay in the shadows forever. Eventually, you’ll see a sunrise that means something to you. Just hold on.”

Prompto nods, like he understands, grips his own mug in his hand and stares at the scuffed tabletop.

He doesn’t know who Cid is.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

He’s settled in Old Lestallum; picked an abandoned apartment in a run-down building. There’s no plumbing, no electricity, but he’s used to it by now. It’s not so hard to adjust. The diner across the street has power and sets up charging stations during business hours. He goes there early, eats and lets his dying phone gain a few percent. Every once in a while, he sends messages to Gladio, updates him on little things, gets stories in return. Sometimes, there’s photos.

_Iggy _flashes across the screen, one morning. He frowns and picks up, shaking fingers bring the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

“Prompto?” A familiar voice, warmth that blossoms in his chest. It feels like ages since he’s heard a voice like this.

_Iggy._ He tells himself, repeats it over and over in his mind until it falls into place. It takes too long, but he responds, “Iggy!”

Like he’s happy to hear from him. Because he is.

But he can’t remember why.

▪︎▪︎▪︎☆▪︎▪︎▪︎

He wakes up on his own and thinks he's forgotten something. 

Something important, that brushes gentle fingertips at the edge of his mind. His alarm goes off moments later, and pushes the thought away. The sun is just rising, a single golden ray sneaking through the curtains until he pulls them open and the room explodes into light.

There's something nostalgic there, looking at the sunrise. Again, the thought that he's forgotten something, a distant memory maybe. He scratches the back of his neck and squints, tries to pull the thought forward, but it won't pull itself together. After a yawn and a stretch that pops his back in too many places (when did he get so old?) he kicks himself into his daily routine.

He runs through the recently built park, there’s a statue in the center that he likes to look at. It’s a complete waste of money and resources, but it means something to a lot of people. It’s a bronzed statue of two men, back to back, one older, with a curl of a crown on his head and a cane centered in front of him, looks skywards. The other is younger, head tilted down as if looking at the pathway that comes up to him. He wears a draping of heavy looking fabric and ornate decorations, a sword under his hands, blade down into the ground.

Prompto likes to take a break at the statue, do some mid-run stretches. He reads the plack at the base of the statue, though it means little to him.

__

_In memory of Their Royal Majesties,_

__

_King Regis Lucius Caelum CXIII _

__

_and _

__

_King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV_

__

_May their sacrifices be remembered here_

Prompto thinks, it’s kind of silly. What kind of sacrifice did they make? He should know, but his memory is shoddy, lately. He looks up into the eyes of the younger figure and thinks he really should know.

His alarm beeps at him, reminds him to stay on track. He shrugs, stretches his arms over his head again, and turns to finish his running circuit. 

A familiar face greets him at the gates, and he wonders briefly what else he’s forgotten. They smile sadly and he slows to approach them. A name lingers, wants to rise to his tongue, but won’t come.

“I’m here,” They say, and he thinks they look a little sad, “Like you asked.”

He doesn’t remember that either.

“Coffee?” He suggests, hopes it’s the right offer.

He realizes there’s a long blade in their hand. The glint of the sun on it _does_ spark a memory. A request long forgotten.

Tension escapes his shoulders, he offers an old smile, “I’ve been waiting.”

There’s a flash, a piercing pain in his stomach, and he sees the shadows in their eyes. They don’t say anything else. 

As he looks up at the sunrise, he realizes it wouldn’t matter anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so the part that I diverged from was I can't for the life of me remember how the hell they got to Insomnia for the end, lmao. So there's that.
> 
> Thanks for walking this strange journey with me. Sorry it's not actually Promptis, but the flag grabs more views than not ;D


End file.
